


Flesh on Prey

by minxiebutt



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Flogging, Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6818434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minxiebutt/pseuds/minxiebutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa sets her sights on her boss, and works her tricks to ensure his surrender.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh on Prey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coco_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coco_c/gifts).



> a gift for Coco, who wanted to see Vixen Mikasa playing with her prey. Thank you for being so encouraging with Sagacity!

i. 

The company goes through a sort of employee clean out twice a year. In the fall, to prepare for the load-heavy holidays, and in the spring as pruning. Levi Ackerman manages all his employees equally, but he doesn't get to know them until they begin surviving clean outs. 

Customer service isn't exactly a glamorous position. The representatives are usually the first casualties to the anger and abuse of callers whose problem may or may not be the consequence of their own action. Few hires make it through the initial ninety days probation, fewer still pass through a season of tossing out subpar employees. The most stable, Levi has found, are the workers in the “older crowd” who have raised children and are immune to temper tantrums. They secure a cubicle and set up shop, usually having this job as a means of padding their pre-retirement income. 

The younger employees-- usually underemployed graduates-- are much more volatile, prone to passing on troublesome customers instead of seeing the problem to the end. It's below them. But there's a new springtime recruit who catches his eye before she even passes probation. She's young, but she handles any client like a seasoned professional. He lets himself indulge in reading her initial application over an early-morning cup of green tea, watching the day crew shuffle in. 

The office dress code is lax if it can even be considered enforceable. Levi prefers business attire over denim and cotton, and heaven forbid he should ever wear _pajamas_ like some of these slobs. His impressive new hire waltzes past, all long stockinged legs in a tight pencil skirt and a flowery button-up blouse. Levi makes of note of her continuous professionalism in her file, and he tells himself it's _only_ for the eventual promotion she’s bound to earn. 

ii.

His new hire, Mikasa _Ackerman_ , passes her performance audit with the highest score he has seen in a few years. It's been ninety days, and she's officially moved from _temporary_ to full-time, so he figures he should stop by her desk in person, rather than congratulate her via email. 

She doesn't so much as look up to acknowledge him, her fingers clacking on the keyboard. 

_Red nail polish_ , he notices, and takes care to keep his eyes from wandering any further. So he clears his throat, waits for her to look up, and says, “You did a good job on your assessment.”

Mikasa doesn't smile, doesn't blush, doesn't even blink. She returns her attention back to her work with a deadpan, “I know.”

It catches him off guard, such a disinterested response. He doesn't know how to reply. He leaves. 

iii.

She's by the copier, loitering, smiling brightly at the phone in hand. It's in plain view of his office, and he wonders if she's figuratively asking for a written discipline. 

He watches her cover her mouth with a slender hand, _electric blue nails_ , to stifle her grin into the passive expression she usually wears. It's her left hand, and there's no ring, and somehow that launches him into action. 

Mikasa sees him coming, and that seriousness she was attempting to achieve rushes her like a mask. She types fervently with both thumbs and slips the phone into the pocket of her cardigan before scooping up the pile of identical print-outs. 

“Everything alright?” He inquires, leaning down to check the paper tray of the copier, not that it were his goal. 

Looking down her nose at him, she shrugs, and spins on her heels, _glossy black stilettos_ , to get back to work. Her tight skirt is a second skin, outlining every step and jiggle of her ass. 

He pretends to look at the clock on the wall instead of watching her as she walks away. 

iv. 

His phone chimes with an incoming work-address email early in the evening on a Friday, and he only reads it because it is from _Mikasa Ackerman._

-Psychic’s Palace @ 10 as usual? xxx-

Levi raises an eyebrow. Is she seriously inviting him to that kinky sex club? He considers reporting this to human resources, until a second email pops up. 

-Mr. Ackerman,   
Please disregard previous message as the incorrect recipient was selected.  
Respectfully,  
Mikasa Ackerman- 

For a moment, his vision swims with her ass in that ridiculously tight skirt, and he almost _almost_ thinks he should show up uninvited. 

-Always double check recipients  
Regards, Levi-

v.

That Monday, she looks haggard for once. The skirt is replaced with loose dress pants, and while she still maintains that _professional_ air, he's disappointed. She zombies through the morning, forgetting to drop off the inventory mark-ups, so he stops by her desk. 

“Too much fun at Psychic’s?”

She jumps, raising like lightning from the slumped over position she was holding over her keyboard. 

“I'm sorry, sir!” Mikasa scrabbles through the folders on her desk and quickly hands him the correct one, and by _gods_ is she turning red from her chest up to her ears. 

“You're no good today,” he says calmly. Levi takes the offered file in his left hand, and in his right he reaches out and clasps her shoulder. She doesn't shake him off, but he can feel her tension there, looking up from below her lashes at him, biting her bottom lip. “Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon as a sick day?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers huskily, her eyes big orbs of innocence as she leans into his touch. 

“What?” He says, by reflex rather than need for her to repeat herself. Levi straightens and withdraws his contact. 

“‘Yes, sir’?” Mikasa says a second time, casually questioning him. It makes him think he imagined it the first time, except he knows he didn't. 

vi. 

Whether he wants russet or gold potatoes is derailed when he catches a glimpse of raven hair in his peripheral vision. He looks over his shoulder, sees the person but not the face, and he doesn't want to stare, but is that Mikasa?

Even if it is, he reasons, why should it matter? She's got to feed herself just like anyone here. The girl-- yes, he tells himself, _girl_ because she is so _much younger_ than him-- is nothing but an employee. What she does in her personal time should not matter to him. 

Except it does. The last four Fridays, as the clock nears 2200, he battles internally if he should leave the house or not. 

Finally, the mystery woman turns in a way that he can successfully identify her. It's Mikasa, alright, with her hair loose and her usual attire replaced with tight activewear. Exercise clothing anywhere outside of during exercise is a top pet peeve of his, but it doesn't even register in his brain at that moment. 

Mikasa continues to browse the display of apples, totally oblivious to him standing there watching her. 

He decides that perhaps it is time to check-out. 

vii.

The next week, at the same grocery store at the same time, Levi sees her again. She's been here longer than him, evident by the nearly full handcart. There she is, by those apples again, her metallic silver nails flashing as she checked the firmness of the fruit. 

Levi makes up his mind to say hello, to ask if she lives in one of the nearby apartment buildings that tower the train station. As he approaches her, she places the apple in her handcart and walks away. 

He's left there, wondering if she had seen him, if she were avoiding him because he is her boss. 

Levi shakes his head clear and looks down at his list. He makes his way through the store, but every aisle he turns down, she is always _in_. 

Always _just_ turning away, always _just_ having exited at the other end. 

A coincidence, he tells himself. 

iix. 

He doesn't compliment her-- he reaffirms. 

“Good work” is always met with a confident “I know.”

There's no coy acceptance, no denial. It used to disarm him, but now he expects it. Levi thinks that maybe this is a good thing. If she is sure-footed in her work, that's less for him to do, fewer messes for him to clean up. So, it's no surprise that she eases through her first autumn cleanup. The economy is looking up right now-- they should be busy through the holidays. 

“I see you made it,” he comments, swinging by her cubicle to attain the email print-outs from a difficult customer of hers trying to escalate a closed case. “Good job.”

“Thank you,” Mikasa murmurs, sickly sweet and _that red lipstick is drawing him in_. 

There it was. He finally _complimented_ her, and she had accepted. Levi raised the corner of his mouth. 

“I'm celebrating… with friends… but I think there's room for one more.” Ah, those eyes again with the overflowing innocence. But her body speaks much more loudly, and it's screaming _danger_. 

“Tch, silly girl. Old men like me don't drink recreationally,” Levi scolded, tone light in jest. 

“Hanji told me you're only thirty.”

“Hanji doesn't remember the last _bath she had_ , let alone my birthday.” Levi bowed deep and sweeping. “Thank you for the offer, though.”

ix. 

She's _everywhere_. 

And she's never looking at him. How is that? He sees her like a haunting, like a weed, but she _never_ notices him. 

Now, she's at the end of the aisle in their supermarket, and he stalks towards her before she can slip away. “Hey!”

She looks up, slowly recognizing him. “Mr. Ackerman.” 

“Do you live near here?”

She's got this doe-in-the-headlights look on her face that he doesn't understand, because she answers without hesitation, “Yes. I do.”

“I'll walk you home, the weather’s getting nippy.”

“Oh.” Mikasa looks down at her handcart, as if she doesn't want to be having this conversation. “You live here too?”

“The Shikishima building, on the west side of the train station.”

“Oh, you don't need to walk me home then. I'm on this side of the tracks.” Mikasa bows her head slightly and walks away. Just before she if out of earshot, she looks back over her shoulder. “But thankyou, anyway.”

x.

That same night, his phone chimes again. 

-Mr. Ackerman,  
Thank you for your offer, though I respectfully decline.  
Regards,  
Mikasa Ackerman  
Office phone: xxxxxxx  
Personal cell: xxxxxxx- 

In the several months of emails they've exchanged through their work accounts, he's _never_ seen a footer with her contact numbers listed. Is she… _giving_ that information to him? Levi copies that personal cell number and opens up a new outgoing text thread, pasting the digits into the destination. 

-Is it okay if I text you?-, he sends. There's no indication of who he is, but he is not surprised when the reply that comes in does not inquire to his identity. 

-yes-

He likes to think of himself as wise and mature, but in that moment, the toothy grin on his face betrays that facade. There's nothing for him to say, and no more texts come in, but just having that connection, that _lifeline_ satisfies him. 

xi.

He takes the 0547 train into the city not simply to watch the sunrise between the skyscrapers. This early, the crowd is well put together, polite. No one on this route rushes or multitasks anxiously. No one tries to chat nervously. 

It's 0546 and he's standing on the platform looking at his phone, scrolling through emails that came in overnight. 

“So this is the one you take.” 

He looks to his right, in the direction of that gravelly voice. Mikasa is bundled tightly, sleepy-eyed but still presentable for work. Beneath her long coat, a pair of feet in bright pink flats poke out. Huh. She must change into _those_ high heels at the office. 

“Yeah.” Levi doesn't know how he should elaborate, or if he should let the silence grow between them. 

“Hm.” Mikasa looks past him, down the tracks to the train he can hear approaching. When it stops and the doors open, she follows him, uncharacteristically timid. Levi sits on one side and Mikasa takes a seat opposite of him, and he notices her phone is tight in her clutch. 

It's been ten days since he texted her, and the thread is the only one he can't manage to convince himself to delete. He watches her tap away on her phone, swaying with the movements of their commute, and he finds himself wondering if she would have that subtle smile on her face if it were him on the other end. 

When they depart the train car, she doesn't ask where he's going, only following. He eats at the same bagel shop every morning and he's not going to make an exception for her tailing him. 

Mikasa is a good sport, an amicable shadow. She doesn't try to fill the emptiness between them with small talk. He orders and sits at a table. She orders and then joins him, across from him. He finishes and heads to the office, but when he realizes she isn't following, he stops at the door. 

“See you at the office?”

She looks up, nods, and continues with her breakfast. 

xii. 

For three weeks, she is a companionable shadow, following that initially laid out routine. 

Then, it stops. 

She doesn't ride the train with him. He doesn't see her at the supermarket, and he leaves her be at work. The office is no place for personal matters, and he feels like his emotions would only hinder her performance. 

He won't admit it, but he _misses_ her. 

Just when he thinks he should swing by her desk and ask if he offended her somehow, his phone chimes. 

The two-bubble text thread with Mikasa has been sitting in his phone for over a month, and now there is a third bubble. 

-Psychic’s Palace @ 10-

There's no question mark, and he feels _commanded_ to obey. It feels like high school again-- like he'd do anything to get laid instead of spending the evening with his hand around his cock. 

-I'll be there-

xiii. 

The Friday evening and night trains are always packed, and Levi remembers why he _never fucking goes out_. But he's got teenage giddiness sloshing through his gut, so he stomachs the unpleasantness and arrives only a few minutes late. He shows his ID to three separate bouncers before he gets a green tamper-proof bracelet on his wrist and is allowed to enter. 

The blessed bar is his first stop, and he shoots back an ounce of tequila to soothe his nerves. It's calm here in the lobby, the loud bass drowning out any sounds that might be traveling from the down _that_ hallway. From what he read online, Psychic’s is a lounge for tops and bottoms to meet new people, try out new things, and explore. You can either come with someone, or if you're casual enough, linger in the lounge until you find a partner that’ll soothe your itch. 

A variation of couches, sofas, and armchairs, all leather _and electric blue_ (like the nail polish Mikasa favors) making up different seating arrangements allow scattered groups of people to converse. 

Levi lets his eyes roam until a lonesome Mikasa walks in, the same long coat he's used to by now. She joins him at the bar, flashing her green bracelet, and asks for a scotch. 

“Are you going to compliment me?” She asks, standing between stools. He lets his eyes sarcastically appraise her. 

“Nice coat.”

Her fingers make quick work of the buttons, until the article falls heavy from her shoulders and she's _standing there_ in a matching lace bralette and panty set, limbs covered in a complicated strap system, otherwise naked. 

“A real compliment, Levi,” she snaps, arms akimbo, and he's pretty sure he will have to pluck his authority up from the floor. The crack of her voice cuts him like a whip, and he finds himself reeling like a disciplined puppy. 

There's a dozen lustful words he could use to fulfill her command, but the stinging of his ego is a hindrance. How does she think she can order him around like that? From the text at lunch, to the words from her tongue just now, he wonders who _the fuck_ she's talking to. 

“I'm waiting.” Mikasa flips the short hair from her eyes. 

Levi grits his teeth, drops his cash for the bartender, and walks away, but he forgets his authority on the floor at her feet, and he knows she has seized it. 

He pauses at the door and turns to face her. She's not even looking at him, she's got a glass of amber liquid in one hand, her phone in the other. _Fuck her_ , he thinks, and all but stomps back over to her. 

“You look toothsome.”

Mikasa raises a brow, continuing with her drink and phone leaning her back against the bar to face him. 

“Succulent. Provocative. Nubile. Beddable.”

She puts the phone down.

_“Fuckable.”_

She puts the drink down. “‘Fuckable’ is not for you to decide.” Mikasa picks the discarded coat up and slips her arms into it before fastening the buttons. Her phone goes into a pocket and the liquor goes down her throat. After wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she steps forward, kisses his cheek, and leaves. 

xiv.

-what did I do wrong?-

It sits there alone on his screen until almost midnight. He's in his bed with cum over his abdomen, twisting guilt for his indulgence riding on his shoulders. But that view of her skin, _oh_ that milky expanse….

He doesn't reach for his phone when it chimes, but takes a tissue and wipes himself off and falls into an oddly content sleep. 

He reads her response in the morning:

-you didn't give in-

That plagues him the whole way through the work week and into the next, until it's the second Friday after he saw her body and masterbated to the memory. He's got a thousand retorts and ways to break her confidence, but he _knows_ he never took his authority back up. 

-how do I give in-

His surrender tastes bitter, but in a way that he thinks he could grow accustomed to it. 

Same place  
Same time

xv.

Levi gets his green bracelet and walks in to immediately see her at the bar, still in her coat. 

“You look like a woman in control,” he blurts when he's close enough.

Mikasa smiles and begins to undo her covering. “It's nice to know you're not as dense as you look.” To the bartender, “Four shots of vodka.”

“Aren't you ambitious,” Levi chides. 

“Oh, they're not for me.” Mikasa eyes him devilishly and pushes them, one by one, over. “You need to loosen up. I've got a flogger with your name on it.”

Levi threw back the first shot, cringing. “Someone's been reading too much fifty shades of shit.”

“I don't want to talk about that abusive and ignorant book. It's got any manner of asshole coming in here calling himself a dominant.” Mikasa leveled him with a glare. “You can leave if you don't want to be here.”

Levi takes his second shot and perches halfway on a barstool, feet still planted on the floor. “I'm sorry.”

She lets out a long breath, undoes her last button, and slides the coat from her body. Instead of letting it crumple in a puddle, she folds it neatly and sets in on the stool next to his. He follows suit, removing his jacket and laying it over hers. She's in that same get-up with the confusing straps and the whole of her flesh on display. 

“I don't have any interest for a submissive or a slave. It doesn't even have to be long term. But this is what I like doing, and I want to do it with you.” Mikasa watches him down his third shot. “I think it's something you'll enjoy.” 

“Am I going to end up chained to the wall and castrated?” Levi asks, his serious tone masking his sarcasm. 

“No.”

“Pity.” With that, he sets down a fourth empty glass. “Do we need a code word?”

“Safe word?” When he nods, she clarifies, “If you tell me to stop, I'll stop. If you tell me ‘no’ then I will stop. But if that happens, you won't get another chance until I think you're a little less green.” 

“Isn't this still coercion?”

“I'm not forcing you to endure what you don't want.” She leans in, as if to kiss his neck. “And I know you want what I have to give you.”

“Don't be so sure of yourself.” He bristles defensively, even though he feels the buzz rapidly creeping into his blood. This amount of vodka in less than two minutes is going to drag him into repose in no time. 

Mikasa squeezes his jaw and turns his face towards her own. He's about to protest when she presses an open kiss to the space between his chin and bottom lip. Levi smells wine on her, and realizes that she is as apprehensive as he is, even if their reasons are different. He's never identified as a masochist, and he _hopes_ she's never fucked a boss before. 

_Shit, that's right._ Levi pulls his head back to ask, “Is this going to make it awkward at work?”

“I'm moving to the sales floor on Monday. Erwin requested me by name.” Mikasa followed where he pulled away, latching on to his adam’s apple with a tickling bite. “He overheard _someone_ praising my dedication to the company.”

Levi felt his gut clench. “I didn't know today was your last day.”

“Last day under _you_. Literally and figuratively.” She smirked. “I've got the room at the end of the hall. Let's go.”

It's not the classic _sex dungeon_ he was expecting, but he was pleased enough that the sweltering room and all its furniture smelled of recently applied disinfectant. There's no bed, only a white leather sectional and white coffee table atop grey carpeting within walls painted the color of fresh blood. Mikasa locks the solid door behind them and adjusts the overhead lighting to what Levi assumes is the lowest setting. 

“I'm going to flog you, then fuck you.” Mikasa wastes no time pulling the intended tool from a glass cabinet by the door. She lets the strands of it slip through her fingers. “And maybe I'll let you cum.”

He strolls over to the large couch but doesn't sit down. “You're going to tell me what I can and can't do?” 

“Yes.” Mikasa licks her lips. “I think you're overdressed. Take it off.”

Levi finds himself moving with haste, wanting to present himself to her. It must be a volatile combination of alcohol and her confident commanding. He wants to _please_ her, even if he would not admit it to himself. She continues to play with the flogger while he undresses, tugs at her bottom lip when he pushes his bottoms down and steps out of them. The room doesn't feel overly hot now that the air is on his skin. 

“Well, that cock’s bigger than I anticipated.” Mikasa steps up, lowers the flogger to his groin, brushes the soft leather threads over it. Levi grunts at the sensation-- his blood flow is quickly localizing under her ministrations. 

“How are you feeling?” She asks sincerely, dropping her nose to bump his. “Do you still want to do this?”

“Yes,” he replies through a tight jaw. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Mikasa draws the flogger up his front, tipping his chin up with it. He moves willingly, keeping his eyes on her and his hands clasped behind his back, even when she kisses him again below his bottom lip. “I'll go slow.”

That's what she says, but Levi barely endures a few minutes before his skin is shining with sweat, heart is beating out of his chest and unable to catch his breath. He's stretched over the coffee table, gripping its edges for support, his body betraying him. 

It stings just enough for his body to release endorphins, and the kiss of the leather threads tickles as she trails it over his skin, creating hypersensitivity. It's a vicious circle of pain, endorphins, and sensitivity that welcomes an increased perception of pain with each new swat. He's spiraling his way down into _hell_ and he doesn't want to her to stop. Desperate, he _needs_ to grind himself against something, _anything_ to alleviate the fire in his groin. 

Levi grinds his teeth against his moans, stuffing them back down his own throat so forcefully that he gasps. The swing he expects does not connect, and then Mikasa leans down before him. 

“Should I stop? You're shaking.”

He didn't even realize that he was, so he consciously relaxes his body, lets his control sink down until it's out of his reach. The shaking ceases. “I'm alright.”

“You're doing really well,” Mikasa praises. “I didn't make it more than a minute the first time I got flogged.”

“Don't stop,” he pleads, and she obliges until she finds satisfaction in his condition a couple more minutes later. 

“Roll onto your back.” Her eyes are dilated to pools of black in the dim light. He guesses that his are the same. Slowly, he releases his hold on the edges of the coffee table, slides down, scooting his knees back, and all but collapses on the floor. She helps him twist, adjusting until his spent body is laid flat. With tremendous lust, she whispers, “I'm going to ride you.”

Weakly, still coming down from the high, Levi nods, watching her through half-lidded eyes. Mikasa reaches over him, and he can hear the tell-tale _ripping_ before something cool and wet is rolled down his throbbing cock. Just the brush of her hand feels like heaven, and he involuntarily bucks his hips. 

He fights to keep his eyes open as she positions him and slowly settles on to him until their pubic bones are flush. 

“Don't cum,” she reminds him, and slowly begins to circle her hips. 

She orgasms twice with the steady movements, only picking up the pace and force on her way to achieve golden number three. When she crosses over that threshold, Levi fears he might burst at the seams. His own unfinished arousal is so _fucking close_ when she stills, slides off him, and rolls the condom up to deposit it on the table. He whines needily at her fingers, and she smirks at him. 

“You want to cum?”

_“Yes.”_

Mikasa gives his cock one good pump before her fingers are skating lower… too low. He feels her at the rim, but doesn't comprehend until he's burning with stretching. 

She keeps her eyes on him, so he does the same, using her for an anchor. Her finger is rooting around, searching until she brushes a point that makes his whole body spasm. 

“Ooh, tinder,” she coos, dropping a kiss on his forehead. She strokes that spot again, and he jerks again, over and over until he's panting with an open mouth a glassy eyes. When he _finally_ cums, it feels like he's going to die, and he surrenders himself to the wave of ecstasy. 

She cleans him up with his shirt. “We can stay until they kick us out at five in the morning.” 

“Was I that good?” Levi brings his head up and immediately lets it _thunk_ back down in exhaustion. 

“More than good,” she purrs, tossing his soiled shirt onto the coffee table and claiming his mouth with her own. His limbs are clumsy, but he manages to swing them around her in an embrace. 

“I know,” Levi jokes.

**Author's Note:**

> We all know play and alcohol don't mix right?


End file.
